


jump right in (swim until you're free)

by myhomeistheshire



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Cop AU, F/M, Fluff, modern day AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-05
Updated: 2014-12-05
Packaged: 2018-02-28 07:08:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2723255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myhomeistheshire/pseuds/myhomeistheshire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke gets stuck in a bad side of town at night. Her best friend's cop brother is the only person around to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	jump right in (swim until you're free)

_Shit._

 

Clarke looks down at her phone’s screen, which is displaying a depressing ‘connect to power’ message. Okay. Okay, so this isn’t a _total_ loss, right? Payphones are still a thing, yes? She rubs her arms as a cool breeze sends shivers up her skin, and glances around the eerily empty street. There’s only one streetlight, and all of the apartments have boarded-up windows and chains on the doors. And honestly, she shouldn’t even have been _in_ this part of the city, except that she took the wrong bus and _of course_ it was the last one for the night, and by the time she realized she was in the wrong place it had already driven off.

 

So she starts walking.

 

She’s not usually a paranoid person, but after ten minutes without seeing so much as a cab or a person driving down the street, she’s starting to get freaked out. All she has by way of weapons are her car keys, and she doesn’t really trust herself to do that much damage with them.

 

She finally sees a payphone, and she darts across the street and into the booth. She jingles around in her wallet for change, but she can only come up with a few spare coins. Oh well. It’ll be enough for two phone calls, so even though it’s irrational she makes the first one to her best friend, who is halfway across the country because she just needs to hear a familiar voice right now, okay?

 

“Hello?” Clarke sags in relief at her friend’s voice.

“Oh my god, Octavia, I am so glad you picked up.”

“Clarke? Is that you?” There’s loud music blaring in the background, and Octavia is nearly shouting. “Just give me a second.” Clarke waits, impatiently. She glances around and sees two guys huddled in the corner of an alley across the street who hadn’t been there before. She crosses her fingers that they won’t notice her.

“Okay, hey. How are you?” The music in the background is gone now, replaced solely by Octavia’s voice.

“Um.” Clarke glances over at the men again, just to be sure they aren’t looking at her. “Actually, I’m kinda freaked out right now.”

“Are you okay? What’s going on?” Octavia switches straight into concerned-mother-hen mode.

“I’m fine - well, I mean, that’s relative, but -”

 _“Clarke._ Stop. Tell me what’s going on.”

“Okay, so I took the wrong bus and then it drove off without me and there aren’t any more buses coming for the night and I’m in a slightly sketchy part of town and I can’t find a cab and my phone’s dead and there are these guys in the corner who just _aren’t moving_ and it took me twenty minutes just to find a payphone -”

“Hey, okay, take a deep breath.” Octavia’s voice is soothing. “Where are you right now?”

Clarke glances around the road until she sees a street sign. “Corner of Wright and 53rd.”

“Okay, listen, call my brother. He’s a cop, he’ll be on shift right now anyways -”

“No.” Clarke shakes her head. “No, god, O, I wouldn’t want to bother him. I still have some coins left, I can call a cab, or something.”

“You won’t be bothering him, Clarke, and even if you were, it would be worth it! I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t mind making a stop out of his way to stop his sister’s best friend from getting _mugged.”_

“No, seriously, O.” Clarke’s calmed down a bit now. That was just like, a freak paranoid episode because she didn’t sleep a lot last night. “I just needed to talk to someone, but I’m fine now. I’ll call a cab.”

“Clarke -”

“Night, O.”

 

She hangs up the phone, and waits for the change to come out of the payphone. When nothing happens, she hits the side of it, hoping it’ll rattle the coins out. Still, nothing. _Shit._

 

Okay. Okay, deep breaths. It’s fine. She’ll just walk around a little more. She’ll get to a more populated area, she’ll be able to find a cab or someone with a phone, it’ll be fine. She runs a hand through her hair and realizes that it’s shaking. Stupid adrenaline.

 

She balls her hands into fists and starts walking.

 

 

 

It’s a good five minutes before she glances behind her and notices that the two guys hanging around the alley are following her. They’re keeping their distance, but it’s definitely not an accident that they’re still behind the only person out on the streets. Okay. Okay. Clarke fishes her keys out of her bag and grips them between her fingers. She’s not sure what use it’ll be against two opponents, but right now it’s her only option.

 

Her blood is pounding furiously in her ears, in stark contrast against the empty silence of the streets. The men are getting closer, and she’s trying to think of a way out of this. She could scream for help - but she’s pretty sure no one would hear her, much less come to her aid. She could try and bash in one of the ground floor windows - but no, those boards are thick. There’s no way she’s getting through them.

 

The men are only a couple feet behind her now, and she starts running.

 

_Please, please, please, please, please._

It’s like her mind just shorted out. She can’t think, can’t breathe - all she can do is pound her feet against the pavement and try to ignore the looming footsteps behind her.

 

Then she feels a hand grabbing her arm, and she whirls around and jabs the keys into her attacker as hard as she can. It connects, and she hears a curse from the man. But it only deters him for a second, and then he’s throwing her up against the building and she can’t breathe she can’t breathe she can’t -

 

And then, suddenly, the weight against her neck is gone.

 

She crumples to the ground on all fours, retching and heaving against the concrete. And then she grabs her keys from where they’d fallen on the pavement and she forces herself up again, ready to face whatever’s coming -

 

And finds herself face-to-face with Bellamy Blake.

 

Octavia’s older brother has the man pinned down, face in the concrete, and Clarke can see his accomplice running off in the distance.

Bellamy looks up at her, and she’s too dumbfounded to even say anything. “Octavia called me.” He explains, tightening handcuffs onto the man’s wrists. “She said you’d be too proud to ask for help.”

“Thank you.” Clarke says, but it comes out as a whisper. She feels like she’s watching from a distance as Bellamy stuffs the guy in the backseat of his squad car, reading him his rights in a stiff tone.

He goes to get in the driver’s seat of the car, then looks over at Clarke, who hasn’t moved a muscle. “Hey, Clarke.” There’s concern in his voice, and Clarke shakes her head to get rid of whatever residual feelings are lurking about. She’s safe now, that’s what matters.

“I’m fine.” She declares, slipping into the passenger side, but Bellamy stares at her for a few more seconds before he sits down and starts the car.

 

The ride back to the precinct is long, and Clarke does her best to ignore the man in the back seat, even though her mind can’t stop running through the event that just played out.

When they arrive, Bellamy sits her down at his desk and tells her that someone will be with her in a minute. She nods numbly, clasping her hands together in her lap. She isn’t sure if it’s minutes or hours later, but eventually a strict-looking cop with a scowl and hair pulled back into an impossibly tight ponytail sits down in front of her. She asks Clarke a few basic questions, which she replies to automatically.

“Now, describe what happened.”

Clarke clears her throat. “I was, um, I was on my way home from work, and . . .”

“And?” The cop asks impatiently.

“And I . . .” Clarke’s hands are shaking, and she should be able to answer this _one stupid question_ , and the cop is looking at her like she just might shoot her herself, and it’s too loud and bright and -

“I’ll take it from here, Mendel.” A warm voice interjects, and Clarke’s head snaps up. Bellamy is gently but assuredly taking the woman’s place, and a huge part of Clarke is pure relief.

“How are you holding up?” He asks quietly, and a hysterical sort of laugh escapes Clarke’s lips.

“Great, I’m - I’m great.”

“Okay.” He’s looking at her with caution, speaking slowly and calmly. "So I’m just going to go over my version of things, and you can tell me if any of it’s wrong, okay?”

Clarke nods.

“Alright. So, you were on your way home - from where?”

“Work.” Clarke says after a second. “I work at the bakery on Gaetz and 23rd.”

“Okay. So you were on your way home from work, you got off at the wrong stop, and then there weren’t any more buses coming through, so you walked around until you found a payphone. You called Octavia, and then I’m assuming you didn’t have enough money leftover to call a cab?”

Clarke clears her throat. “The machine ate my change.”

“Okay. So you started walking, and then you noticed the two men following you.”

“I, um, I noticed them while I was on the phone. But they didn’t seem suspicious until they started following me when I left.”

“So, you noticed them following you, and then the big one grabbed you and threw you up against the building?”

 

Clarke’s whole body is shaking, now. _It’s just cold_ , she tells herself. She’s a shitty liar.

“Yes.”

Bellamy jots down a few more things on his notepad, then tosses it onto his desk. “Alright, that's it for tonight. I’ll give you a ride home.”

Clarke follows him out to the squad car, jumping a little at the beeping sound when he unlocks it. She’s not some silly, scared child. She _isn’t._

Bellamy doesn’t comment, either because he doesn’t notice or just out of politeness. Either way, she’s grateful.

 

 

“You still live on Elm?” He asks, and Clarke is surprised that he remembers that. He hasn’t picked Octavia up from her place in months.

“Yeah.” She replies, staring adamantly out the window.

 

It’s not a long drive, but it’s a weird one, and so Clarke is a little relieved to be back at her place.

“Thanks for the drive.” She tells Bellamy sincerely, “And, you know, saving my life.”

“Not a problem.” Bellamy says, but he’s still looking at her like there’s something he can’t quite place, and Clarke doesn’t like it. So she grabs her bag and slips into her apartment.

 

 

When she gets up to the sixth floor, she fumbles with her keys at the door. It’s so _stupid,_ that her fingers would still be shaking, so much so that she drops the keys. And it’s this simple act, this inability to do even the _smallest_ thing, that shoves her over the edge. She reaches down to grab the keys and just crumples up on the floor, her knees pulled to her chest and the biting edges of metal cutting into her palms.

 

She tries to stifle her sobs because she’s in the middle of a hallway, for christ’s sake, and she doesn’t want one of her neighbors coming out because she really has had enough humiliation for one day, and finally she’s able to stand up and jam the key into the door and turn the knob to her apartment.

 

She locks the door, and the deadbolt, and hooks the little chain on that she hasn’t used since she bought this place. But even that doesn’t help, so she pushes a chair up against it, and then goes to double-check the windows.

 

It’s so stupid that she hasn’t ever thought to buy bars for them. Really, it’s not like she lives in a great part of town, so she _should_ have bought them a while ago, but she was a naive idiot who thought nothing bad could ever happen to her. And there’s nothing she can do at this hour, so she satisfies herself with drawing the blinds and curling up on the couch with all the lights on, power bill be damned.

 

She has her eyes closed for exactly fifty-five seconds (not that she’s counting, or anything) when a knock comes from her door. Her entire body freezes up, and it takes her a moment to stand up. This is so stupid. It’s so _freaking_ stupid, that two things could happen in one night, but she grabs the sharpest knife from her kitchen and pulls away the chair. She doesn’t know why this apartment doesn’t have peepholes, and her heart is thudding in her chest as she cracks open the door.

“Hello?” She asks quietly, and then she recognizes the face standing there and her terror comes crashing down around her. “Oh, Bellamy, shit, just give me a second -” She sets the knife down on the counter and unlatches the chain so she can open the door fully.

He’s changed out of his uniform, and his hair is slightly disheveled. Clarke tries to ignore the way her heart beats a little faster, in such a different way than it’s been doing all night.

“Hey, um, so Octavia called again and just wanted me to stop by and see how you were doing, after everything.” Bellamy coughs awkwardly.

“Yeah, um, come on in.” Clarke says, gesturing into her apartment. Bellamy follows her in, glancing around the room.

“You really haven’t changed _anything,_ have you?” He says with amusement, and _god,_ it’s only been like seven months since he was here last, it’s not like she _should_ have changed anything.

“Listen, I appreciate you coming by, but Octavia’s just a little overprotective.” Clarke says, forcing her voice to come off calm. She’s not really sure how well it works out. “I’m fine.”

“Really.” Bellamy doesn’t sound convinced. “So the knife on the counter and the chair behind the door, those are there all the time?”

Clarke lets out a breath and collapses onto the couch. “I’m fine.” She says tightly, because she doesn’t need his goddamn _pity_ right now, no matter how nice it is to have him here with her.

“Clarke.” He settles down on the couch beside her. “It’s okay if you’re not. What happened tonight - that would’ve shaken anyone up. Hell, I’ve been a cop for five years and if I was in that situation even _I_ would’ve been freaked out.”

Clarke wraps her arms tighter around her stomach, and doesn’t answer.

 

Bellamy seems to take that as an agreement, because he shucks off his shoes and settles into a more comfortable position on the couch. Clarke isn’t sure how long he’s planning to stay, but whatever. It’s nice not being terrified of every gust of wind that brushes against the windowpanes, even if it is just for a few minutes.

 

 

“So, how’s pre-med?” Bellamy asks after a few minutes of silence. Clarke shrugs.

“It’s okay. Tough, but rewarding. You learn a lot of stuff. I’m just more excited to actually start working with patients.” She looks over at him, meeting his eyes for the first time. “How’s the squad?”

Bellamy’s mouth quirks up a little. “Not too bad. It’s been a little crazy for the past few months, what with detective training and all -”

“Wait, you got promoted to detective?” Clarke asks in astonishment, then flushes at Bellamy’s wry grin.

“No need to sound so surprised, princess.” It’s the first time he’s used her childhood nickname in, god, _years,_ and for some reason Clarke likes the way it sounds on his lips.

“I didn’t - I mean, that’s amazing! I just thought Octavia would’ve mentioned it.”

“Yeah, well, I haven’t told her yet.” Bellamy replies. “I’ve been working toward it for a while, I just don’t want to tell her until it’s for sure.”

“My lips are sealed.” Clarke promises. “But honestly, Bell, that’s fantastic.” She bites her tongue after the nickname comes out, because it’s _weird_ to give a nickname to someone you’ve never actually had a real conversation with before. He doesn’t comment on it, though.

 

 

 

“I thought I was going to die tonight.”

It’s two hours and a bottle of wine later (Clarke’s pretty sure Bellamy only pretended to drink some, asshole, which means she drank the entire bottle by herself and she’s probably more drunk than she feels like), and the conversation’s taken a turn into late-night confessions.

“You didn’t, Clarke.” Bellamy says firmly, and Clarke nods.

“I know. I just - I never thought anything like that would happen to me, y’know? I thought I was invincible. And then, everything happened so fast, and I just -” she doesn’t know how to finish. “I was so scared. And it just hit me - _I’m going to die._ ”

 

“I’m sorry.” Bellamy says, and it’s so quiet she almost doesn’t hear it. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there earlier, I’m sorry I couldn’t stop him before he -”

“God, Bellamy, it’s not your fault.” Clarke says, astonished. “You’re the reason I’m _alive_ right now. If you hadn’t gotten there when you had . . .” She doesn’t finish the sentence. They both know what would have happened.

 

 

They talk about everything, and they talk about nothing, and when it’s too late in the night to be doing anything at all, Clarke falls asleep.

 

 

 

She wakes up the next morning to sunlight peering through the blinds, and rubs a hand across her eyes. Everything from the night before comes flooding back, and she jerks up. _“Ow.”_ She mutters, as a searing pain shoots through her skull. “Jesus _christ_ -”

“Not enjoying the hangover?” A voice comes from the kitchen, and Clarke pushes herself into a sitting position. Bellamy is standing at the stove, making something that smells _delicious._ However, it doesn’t help the pounding in her head.

“Oh, no, it’s great.” Clarke mumbles sarcastically, pushing her hair back and rubbing her temples. She glances around. The throw pillows are on the floor, and there’s a blanket wrapped around her that she definitely hadn’t grabbed. “Shit, Bellamy, I’m really sorry, you didn’t have to sleep on like, half a couch -”

“It’s fine.” He replies automatically, scooping whatever’s in the pan onto the two plates he has sitting on the counter. “There’s some water and an aspirin sitting on the end table.” He says nonchalantly, and Clarke eagerly downs the pill. God. She would really appreciate it if the painkiller would kick in ASAP.

“You really didn’t have to stay all night, or make breakfast, or anything -” She says helplessly as Bellamy sits back down beside her, handing her a plate of scrambled eggs with what looks like caramelized mushrooms and tomatoes - who even comes up with that?

“Clarke.” He says firmly, cutting her off. “I wanted to, okay?”

“Okay.” She acquiesces.

 

They talk while eating the eggs, which, _god_ they’re delicious, and by the time they’re finished Clarke’s headache has been reduced to a dull roar.

Bellamy sets his plate down and checks his watch. “I should probably get going,” he says, and Clarke isn’t sure whether she’s hearing reluctance in his voice or if she’s just projecting.

“Well, thanks again.” Clarke replies, standing up and grabbing the plates as Bellamy throws on his jacket. She tries to ignore the way he looks with bedhead and the muscles in his arms stretching out to slip into the sleeves.

“Not a problem. And Clarke?” She looks up at him as he’s standing in her doorway, and her chest tightens up at the look on his face. “If you need anything, and I mean _anything,_ call me.”

“Okay.” Is the only word she can make out before he gives her a small smile and closes the door behind him.

 

 

She sits down on the floor abruptly, plates clinking together. This is Octavia’s _brother._ He was just being nice and looking out for his sister’s friend. He’s a cop, he probably does this all the time.

 

Her thoughts are interrupted by the shrill ringing of her phone. She grabs it off the counter - Bellamy must’ve plugged it in, and the thought makes the feeling in her stomach grow tighter, twisting itself into knots.

“Hello?”

“Oh my _god,_ Clarke, do you have any idea how worried I’ve been?”

Clarke blinks, more than a little taken aback. _“Octavia?”_

“Of course it’s me, you _asshole,_ I’ve been trying to call you since last night except it kept going straight to voicemail, and my dickhead brother wasn’t picking up either -”

“Wait, wait.” Clarke is trying to wrap her head around what the hell is going on. “Bellamy didn’t talk to you last night?”

“Not after I called him to come pick you up. So here I am, wondering if my best friend and my brother are lying dead in a _ditch_ somewhere, and no one thinks to call me and let me know that they’re alright -”

“Well, I’m fine.” Clarke says, and she spends a few more minutes calming Octavia down before she hangs up.

 

When she checks her texts a couple minutes later, there’s a new one from a number she doesn’t recognize.

 

_Clarke, it’s Bellamy. I got your number from Octavia. Just thought you should have my number, in case you ever need to take me up on that offer._

 

She takes a while to respond. The phone sits on her counter, the message left accusingly on the screen while she goes about her daily chores.

Finally, she sits down on the counter and picks up the phone.

 

_Actually, I have some pre-exam stress to vent about, if you’re ever up for ice cream._

 

It isn’t more than a minute before it dings again.

 

_As long as I can pick the place - there’s a really great spot around the corner from the precinct. Next Saturday, 1:00?_

 

She can’t keep the smile off her face as she texts back _sounds great, see you then._

 

 

Maybe what she told Octavia wasn’t completely true. Maybe she’s better than fine.

 

 


End file.
